London Fog
by LillieGrey
Summary: Dr. Regina Mills is perfectly content with her life as a single, hard-working cardiothoracic surgeon, but an unexpected meeting with a mysterious gentleman shows her there's more to life than work and she's not quite as alone as she thinks. AU, Outlaw Queen set in London.
1. Chapter 1

_This was originally a one shot in my collection 'Comfort' but I've had several requests to turn it into an ongoing story. I've tweaked a few things and posted this here and will hopefully have the second chapter out soon. This is my first multi-chapter fic so comments and criticism are very welcome! Xx_

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><p>There are days when she walks around the city and she has to literally stop and pinch herself because she simply cannot believe she lives here. Walking along the South Bank on a beautiful spring day with the sun shining and a light breeze, or wandering through the streets soaking in the history that seems to permeate the air surrounded by the beautiful architecture and majestic splendor that is London is sometimes so surreal that she can't comprehend it.<p>

Today is not one of those days.

She's just coming off of a 48 hour on-call shift that had been physically, mentally, and emotionally exhausting and she only has four short hours before she has to be back at the hospital for her regular 12 hour shift. As grateful as she is to live in this remarkable city doing a job that most days she loves, she is keyed up and miserable, missing the comfortable familiarity of New York so much she can hardly breathe. It is that nostalgic longing, the suffocating homesickness and desire for the comfort of something from her homeland that has her taking a left in the Tube station and heading across town on the Piccadilly line instead of to the empty silence of her apartment.

Emerging from the station in Chiswick she verbally groans to see that the dull grey the sky had been when she entered the underground has turned into a full on downpour with heavy drops pinging off the metal hand rails of the steps as she ascends into the waiting deluge. By the time she reaches her destination a short six blocks away her feet are completely soaked through due to some miniscule hole in the sole of her boots that she was blissfully unaware of until she had to walk through the rain drenched streets. She can't count the pairs of shoes that have fallen victim to the perpetual damp of this God forsaken country in the short year that she's lived here. At least she remembered her umbrella when she left the hospital so the rest of her isn't quite as sodden.

Taking a quick left turn she darts under the awning of the shop, closes her umbrella quickly and steps into the comforting warmth of Outsider Tart. The aroma of fresh baked bread, gooey chocolate chip cookies, and warm spiced apple pie wraps itself around her like a comforting balm and she takes a moment to just breathe it in and allow some of the tension in her shoulders to uncoil. It's not the same as being back at home in New York, but the fresh pastries, breads and cakes in the American style bakery are the closest thing to home she can get in this country, not to mention the isles of shelves along the side that are stocked with various dried sundries, candies, sodas, and a variety of other imported goods from her home across the pond.

"Hiya Doc! Wasn't expecting to see you in here today, have a rough shift?" A gravelly voice greets her from behind the counter.

"Hello Leroy and rough doesn't begin to cover it," she calls back to the stout bearded man behind the display. Leroy, or 'Grumpy' as she occasionally likes to call him, is a former New Yorker turned expat like her. When she stumbled upon his bakery a few months after moving to London the pair quickly bonded over a mutual appreciation for all things New York, especially the various delicacies he keeps stocked in his display cases, and she's been a regular customer ever since. Today, however, she desires something of the packaged variety as opposed to the tempting freshly baked sweets and treats lurking behind the thin bubble of shiny display glass.

Turning on her heel she saunters across the tiles past rows of baking supplies and box mixes, fingers coasting along brightly packaged containers of Peter Pan peanut butter, marshmallow fluff, Pop Tarts, and Twinkies before she reaches her goal and comes to a stop, eyes seeking out the familiar day-glow orange wrapper with the swirly yellow writing and crinkled brown picture. Her eyes impatiently scan the rows of candy in front of her, crouching down to take a closer look at the numerous boxes and containers filled to the brim with Hershey Bars, Baby Ruth, Pay Day and Butterfingers, but she still can't find what she desires. She knows they sell them, it's one of the reasons she comes here so often; she has a slight weakness for this particular sweet—the combination of smooth, slightly salty peanut butter wrapped in a wafer thin layer of creamy milk chocolate is just what she needs to sooth her frazzled nerves and get her through her upcoming shift. Still not seeing her intended purchase she runs a frustrated hand over her scalp, smoothing down the errant wisps of hair that have curled around her forehead and ears in the damp air before she hears a familiar gruff voice call from behind her.

"Uh, Doc, I hate to tell you but we're all out of Reese's cups. Sir Locksley here just bought the last one." She doesn't need to turn around to see the regret on his face; she can practically hear the grimace in his voice. Effortlessly pulling herself upright from her crouched position she fluidly turns to face the counter with a sarcastic quip ready to bite back at the dwarf-like baker, but it dies on her lips the moment she locks eyes with the aforementioned 'Sir Locksley.'

She had been in such a huff when she walked in that she hadn't taken the time to notice the man standing at the counter chatting with Leroy, but she takes a good long look at him now. He's dressed in a pair of dark washed jeans that are lose, but still fitted enough to show off what appear to be very muscular legs, with a moss green button down shirt and a coffee colored suit jacket layered over it highlighting his broad, sculpted shoulders. He is certainly a fit, attractive man, but what robs her of words and has her breath catching in her throat are his eyes; they are a shocking blue that is both calming and unsettling at the same time and she feels a rush of something in her stomach that sends heat into her face and makes her mouth go dry. Those incredible eyes are fixated on her with a sheepish apologetic look that is punctuated by the slightly guilty, lopsided grin he is casting her way, his bottom lip drawn between his teeth highlighting one perfect dimple on the side of his face. For a moment she wonders what it would feel like to have those teeth drag across her bottom lip or to run her fingers along the light golden brown stubble that graces his cheeks, before she shakes her head and clears her throat, desperately trying to regain what little dignity she has left after the spectacular display of surliness and awkward staring she has demonstrated since walking through the door.

Nervously tucking an errant piece of hair behind her ear she draws in a breath to say something, she's not sure what, but before she can gather her thoughts the object of her less than subtle ogling steps forward and says in the most charming accent she's ever heard, "Milady, I apologize if my little indulgence has in any way inconvenienced you. I have a bit of a weakness for American candy, and it often gets me in trouble."

Only in England would one customer apologize to another for making a purchase they had every right to make, it's almost too much for her already threadbare nerves to handle. Before she can think twice she quips back, "And here I was thinking you Brits detested everything American? We use the wrong words, we put honey in our tea, and we fill our candy with sugar and preservatives. Isn't it some kind of treason against the crown to willingly admit to liking anything from 'the colonies?" she finishes with a quirk to her lips, one eyebrow raised as if in challenge.

If she thought his accent was charming, the chuckle he releases in response to her mildly flirtations jibe is downright intoxicating. The sound is rich and warm and makes her knees feel a bit like rubber in a completely foolish way.

"As I said before, I have a slight weakness for sweets of the American variety," he flirts back, drawing that lip between his teeth again as his eyes rake over her quickly and she's not entirely sure if he's still talking about the candy bar or if he's now thinking of her as one of the American sweets he may have a softness for.

"Not that I blame you, there are some things we Americans do better than anyone else." She bites back with a wink stepping up to the counter and asking Leroy for her usual Latte and a dark chocolate peanut butter chip cookie in lieu of the candy she had come here seeking. It's not quite the same, but it will have to do.

"Oh of that I have no doubt, miss…?" he starts and it takes her a moment to realize that he has dropped off waiting for her to supply her name.

"Doctor. Doctor Regina Mills, pleasure to meet you, stolen candy aside," she greets extending her hand for him to shake.

"Robin Locksley, and the pleasure is all mine _Dr._ Mills," he replies, stressing her title, taking her hand and unexpectedly brushing the back of her knuckles with his lips in a chivalrous kiss instead of the handshake she was expecting, those beautiful blue eyes never breaking contact with hers. He's close enough now that she can smell his cologne, it's fresh and clean like a mixture of pine needles and wood smoke with a musky undertone of leather and spice mixed with the damp from the rain outside that still clings lightly to his clothes, it's utterly overwhelming in the best kind of way and she finds herself leaning in to get a better whiff.

Leroy chooses that moment to walk back to the counter, quickly handing her the requested latte in a takeaway cup and wrapping the cookie in a delicate cellophane bag to protect it from the rain that is still chucking it down outside. The warmth of the coffee suddenly placed in her hand snaps her out of the strange fog she feels has taken over her brain under Robin's penetrating stare and she smiles at him one last time, mutters her goodbyes to Leroy and dashes back out into the downpour and back to work, trying to forget about dimples, blue eyes, and the scent of forest.

…

She wanders through her 12 hour shift on autopilot, checking on patients in the recovery room, conducting pre and post op checks and running through rounds in a preoccupied haze. For some reason she can't get her afternoon encounter with Robin out of her head. There was just something about him, the way he was completely unfazed by her direct ire and the way he disarmed her with his melodic accent and piercing eyes has driven her to distraction. It has been a mercilessly quiet shift, a welcome relief after the torturous 48 hour on call she had just endured, so she's surprised when she is paged to reception just 35 minutes shy of freedom.

A smile lights her face when she notices the slight woman with jet black, pixie cut hair and sea foam green eyes manning the desk. She is decked out in an overly cheery pair of bright pink scrubs decorated with little rainbows and fluffy white clouds. As she nears the desk her friend, Mary Margaret, perks up and waves with a smile that Regina notices has a slight hint of mischief around the edges.

"You paged?" she inquires leaning an elbow on the counter in front of her friend.

"Why yes, yes I did," and there's that mischievous smirk again, she is definitely hiding something.

"Okay M, what's up? You're looking entirely too pleased with yourself for my liking," she chuckles, casting a playful glare at the other woman.

"These came for you earlier," the younger woman replies, gesturing to her right, "I thought you'd rather get them at the end of your shift so you wouldn't have to find somewhere to stash them in the break room for hours."

The playful smirk quirking up her lips turns to a shocked 'O' when she spots a bouquet of crimson and amber roses with burnt orange tips dusted with fall colored Gerbera daisies in various shades of scarlet, apricot and ochre resting on top of the reception desk to the right of Mary Margaret's gesturing hand. Disbursed among the blossoms a dozen wooden posts protrude with packages of Reese's cups affixed to their points, matching seamlessly with the autumnal pallet of the arrangement. For a moment she just stares at the bouquet in disbelief before shaking her head and laughing at the absurd (and enchanting) gesture as she leans forward and breathes in the delicate scent of one of the roses.

"There's a card," Mary Margaret chirps from behind the desk plucking the envelope from its place in the middle of the arrangement and handing it over before sitting back down in her chair and trying ineffectively to hide the grin that is practically splitting her face.

"Hmm, so there is," she says arching an eyebrow playfully at her friend.

"Well, are you going to read it?!" She implores, practically vibrating with excitement.

"If I must," she quips back, rolling her eyes at her gleeful look on Mary Margaret's face before flipping the envelope over and removing the tiny card held inside.

_Milady,_

_I apologize if my actions early today upset your routine in any way; I hope this token will help ease the inconvenience. If you will allow me, I would like to make it up to you in person by taking you to dinner tonight? I have reservations at Clos Maggiore at 7:30, I sincerely hope to see you there._

_-Robin_

She's not sure what she expected, but that certainly wasn't it.

"So, are you going to go?" Mary Margaret's question startles her from her reverie and she quickly stuffs the card back in its envelope before placing it securely in the pocket of her scrubs.

"You read it? Really Snow, do you have no respect for anyone's privacy?" She bites back, but finishes with a slight grin to make it clear that she's only partly serious.

Mary Margaret flinches when she hears the nickname Regina reserves for moments of complete exasperation, anger or patronization, but quickly recovers. "Receptionist's prerogative," she replies with a shrug. "And don't think you can change the subject that easily. Who is this guy? You're going to go right? It's been ages since you went on a date and I don't know what he did to "inconvenience" you this morning," she stresses with a suggestive wiggle of her eyebrows, "but that is a pretty fantastic apology if I ever saw one. You should at least show up. Come on, what have you got to lose?"

"Are you quite finished?" she asks, cocking her head to the side casting a withering stare at the younger woman in front of her.

"That depends, have I convinced you or are you still trying to think of a reason to get out of this?" she fires back, completely unaffected by the stare Regina is casting her way that would have most residents quacking in their shoes.

"You aren't going to let this go are you?"

"Not a chance," she retorts with an infuriatingly hopeful grin, eyes sparkling back at the scowl that suddenly appears on Regina's face.

"Alright fine, I'll go," she says with an overly dramatic sigh. "Now stop looking at me with those Disney eyes and get back to work."

"Yes mother," she bites back with a roll of her eyes, "but I expect to hear all about this mystery man when you come back to work in a couple of days.

"Don't hold your breath," she bites back with a wink as she scoops up the massive vase and heads to the locker room. If she leaves now she'll have time to go home and get a decent amount of sleep before she has to get up to get ready for her date with the mysterious Sir Robin Locksley.

…

A short nine hours later Regina finds herself rushing around her apartment desperately trying to decide what to wear to dinner. The beautiful bouquet Robin sent her earlier rests in a place of honor on her dresser (minus a couple Reese's cups) almost mocking her as she pulls dress after dress out of her closet holding each one up and assessing its potential in front of her full length mirror. Nothing seems quite right until she spots a glimmer of royal blue peeking out from the back of her closet. Shoving the other dresses aside she plucks the forgotten dress from the back of her closet and exhales her approval, this will do nicely.

Carefully removing the dress from its hanger she slips it on and moves to examine herself in the mirror. The dress is simple, yet elegant, hugging her curves in all the right places with an asymmetrical neckline that cuts just below her collarbones. The richness of the color perfectly offsets her creamy skin and ebony hair, but what really sets this dress apart is the back. While the front of the dress is fairly tame the back of the dress cuts in a low scoop that ends just above the small of her back where a dark metal zipper starts and runs all the way to the hem of the skirt. A delicate black ribbon ties the dress together at the base of her neck and she lets the ends hang down over the exposed skin of her back. It's flattering in just the right way, classic with an edge; reserved enough to show she expects respect, but still tempting.

Finally satisfied with her dress selection she combs through her hair that she has left down and slightly curled at the ends to frame her face making sure every strand is in place. Her makeup is light and fresh, with a gentle ring of kohl outlining her eyes complimented by a dusting of light eye shadow and dark mascara. Her lips are accentuated by a coat of matte crimson, bold enough to be alluring without being too overt. Quickly tugging on a fitted leather jacket, she slips into a pair of patent leather pumps, scoops her keys and clutch purse off the table by the door and heads off to meet her date.

…

The whole ride over she's gone over every second of their brief exchange in her mind and she can't for the life of her figure out what this man possibly sees in her. When the cab pulls up outside of Clos Maggiore she is halfway tempted to tell the driver she's changed her mind and to take her back home, but somehow she finds the resolve to pay the fare and step out onto the curb before her nerves get the best of her.

For a moment she just stands outside the door, staring at her reflection in the glossy reflective glass wondering if she has completely lost her mind. This is ridiculous, she doesn't know anything about this man beyond that they share a similar taste in horrible candy, he smells intoxicating, and he has the kind of eyes she would like to get lost in. This is a mistake. She turns around and takes a step toward the nearest Tube station when Mary Margaret's words from earlier come back to haunt her. Honestly, what _does_ she have to lose?

Turning back around, she straightens her dress, fluffs her hair, takes a deep breath and opens the door.


	2. Author's Note

Hello all,

I'm very sorry to say, but it's going to be a bit longer before I'm able to update London Fog or Comfort due to family issues. My father was hit by a train at work yesterday in the US (he's mostly ok, thank goodness) but I may have to go home for a bit while he recovers and there is no internet where my parents live. I will try my best to get something out soon.

Thank you all for reading and sending your comments and encouragement, it really means a lot to me. Again, I'm very sorry about the delay.


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